


Argentum Monkfish 2: The Return for Revenge

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: Gen, some monkfish were harmed in the making
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 18:11:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14118039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: Akhos is in over his head. Mòrag is dragged along. Patroka is completely unhelpful.





	Argentum Monkfish 2: The Return for Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> i got splatoon2 and it's been consuming my life

Mòrag nearly walks right into Akhos when he suddenly steps in front of her from who knows where.

“Ah, Mòrag! Just the person I’ve been looking for.” Patroka is behind him. She’s smirking at her like she’s got a secret, but Akhos seems earnest in his greeting. As earnest as he can get, anyway. He holds up a finger when Mòrag opens her mouth to speak.

“As loathing as I am to admit it, I… would like your help in a certain matter. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but, alas. Pickings are slim among our merry troupe and you’re simply one of the more tolerable ones,” he explains. Or, no, it doesn’t really explain anything, but Mòrag is already wary just from Patroka’s smirk. Akhos pushes his glasses up. That’s probably her cue to respond, then.

“I see,” she tentatively says, unable to stop glancing at Patroka. How suspicious. “What did you need from me, Akhos?”

“Today, I am going to prepare an Argentum Monkfish!”

“… Ah,” is all Mòrag says.

“I heard that the Argentum Monkfish is a popular delicacy among Ardainian nobility. So, logically, I thought to myself— what better person to consult than our very own distinguished Special Inquisitor? Also, Brighid did mention you may know a recipe or two.”

She makes a mental note to confront Brighid about this later.

“I’m afraid my experience in the kitchen is… rather limited,” she says. Mòrag supposes she feels somewhat flattered that Akhos, who’s always so disdainful, is even coming to her for help of his own volition, but why a _Monkfish?_

“Yes, yes, I know. Brighid mentioned that as well.” Akhos impatiently waves a hand.

She’ll definitely need to confront Brighid.

Akhos thrusts a finger in Mòrag’s face, pointing at her as if he’s accusing her of some crime. “But that doesn’t matter. Consider it a privilege to be my sous chef, Flamebringer! I expect only the best from you!”

“I haven’t even agreed to this yet…” But Mòrag sighs, and nods. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Alternatively, it will be your duty to make sure Patroka isn’t being a nuisance while I cook.”

Patroka shrugs. She’s having a hard time containing her laughter; no doubt she can already see how much of a disaster this venture is going to be. “Hey, I’m just here for the free food.”

 

* * *

 

They secure a spot to cook in the residential area (Kitoto at Fishy Fishy had chased them away when she recognized Mòrag) and Obrona arrives shortly thereafter with a small sack of Monkfish she had procured by who knows what means. Akhos manages to send her off on some meaningless errands to keep her busy, claiming that one nuisance (Patroka) would be more than enough and that the kitchen is already crowded enough as it is.

But it really is. The kitchen they are borrowing is meant for Nopon, not three normal-sized adults. One of the kitchens at any of the food stalls would have been better, but word among the merchants spreads quickly and Mòrag had apparently been preemptively banned from using all of them.

Akhos was sore about it only for a short while. Now, he has more urgent priorities to think of.

The sack is still on the ground where Obrona had dropped it before she flew off. It’s dripping damp, and lumpy, and slightly pulsating with the subtle movements of the fish within. Akhos, Patroka, and Mòrag stand around it, staring down and none of them willing to be the one to set out its contents.

“Good going, genius. You should’ve specified to Obrona that you wanted them _dead,"_ Patroka says, wrinkling her nose.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Patroka. She would have eviscerated them to inedible mush if I had told her that.” Akhos crosses his arms, but he looks uncertain already. He clears his throat. “Mòrag. You may take the fish out.”

“Excuse me?”

He sharply glares at her. “You heard me. I’m granting you the honor of preparing and cleaning the fish.”

“I… would rather not.” Flashes of resentful fish eyes and a burning kitchen pass through her mind, a seemingly unconnected sequence of events that dredge up an uneasy feeling of dread. Flashbacks, maybe. Is this how Brighid felt, when Mòrag had ordered her to clean the fish for her? Mòrag turns to her other Blade. “Patroka, can you handle this task in my stead?”

“Uhhh, didn’t you hear what I said before? I’m just here for the free food. Don’t hand your work off to me!”

Akhos groans. “There won’t _be_ any food if we can’t even get past the opening act!”

As the three of them half-heartedly bicker, the sack wriggles more and… one of the Monkfish inside manages to squirm its way halfway out, its mouth slowly opening and closing like it’s quietly gasping for air. Patroka is the first to notice— she points down at it, grinning in gleeful disgust.

“Ewww! Look at that thing!”

Akhos and Mòrag react much more dramatically. While Akhos shouts in surprise and stumbles backwards, Mòrag automatically reaches for the swords at her hips. Brighid isn’t here, but there should be enough than enough ether stored to incinerate the sack and all the monstrosities crammed within— 

The blades are already igniting without her realizing it. Akhos shouts again and wildly waves his hands in front of Mòrag, halting her before she can properly draw her weapons.

“Stop, stop, what do you think you’re _doing?!_ This isn’t part of the script, you imbecile! We’re cooking, not engaging in war!”

“But it’s…!” Gross. Disgusting. An abomination. Mòrag’s still gripping the hilts of the swords.

He’s right though, and Mòrag is snapped back to reality. Right, of course, it’s just some fish. Not like they’re actual monsters that pose a threat… despite their grotesque appearances… despite their sharp teeth that could potentially carve through flesh… right. Why do these fish even _have_ teeth? Patroka crouches and curiously prods the fish right between the eyes.

“Gross, it’s squishy.”

She wipes her finger off on Mòrag’s leg. If Mòrag weren’t already used to Patroka’s typical behavior she’d be much more bothered, but even if she wasn’t, there are more pressing matters at hand that make the new smudge on her pants a non-issue. _Of course it’s squishy._ It’s also slimy and shiny and staring straight at them.

It knows, and it’s determined to fight against destiny.

Or... it knows what Mòrag had done to that other Monkfish from what seems like an eternity ago, and it's here to avenge its fallen brethren.

At least, that’s how Mòrag would prefer _not_ to interpret it. Patroka straightens up and takes a step back. She isn’t squeamish in the least bit, but she figures it’d be way more entertaining to let Akhos and Mòrag handle it by themselves. Besides, it’s not like she would _want_ to get in their way. Hah.

Akhos coughs and adjusts his glasses. He’s ignoring Patroka for now, as is Mòrag. “My patience is running thin, Flamebringer. Get that damn fish up on the chopping board already!”

“That’s hardly any way to speak to your Driver.”

“Don’t you dare go off-script!” Akhos is practically cringing as he looks down at the pulsating monkfish. “I’ll demote you to dishwasher, I swear!”

“I don’t recall agreeing to taking this role in the first place— I only said I would offer my assistance!”

Patroka looks back and forth between them with undisguised delight. Damn, she should have brought a snack or something.

“So assist me, why don’t you!”

“I—“ Mòrag’s hands are twitching, reaching for her swords again. That damned Monkfish is owlishly blinking up at her. The sack containing the remaining fish is still wriggling as well, a reminder that this one is only a harbinger of the rest of the doom that lies within. It’s only a matter of time before the rest of them escape their confinement and wreak havoc upon Alrest.

Somehow, Akhos manages to regain enough of his composure to stop yelling. He takes a deep breath to steady himself and folds his arms, shaking his head. “Why, I never thought you would turn out to be such a coward beneath all that bravado you have on the battlefield… what a _shame._ I’m letdown, frankly. _This_ is the Empire’s finest Driver? Hah! Could’ve fooled me!”

Mòrag’s eye twitches, quickly catching on to the deliberate provocation. In spite of that awareness she takes the hook, bait and all. “You would do well not to underestimate me…”

Akhos points at her with a grand flourish, arm sweeping out. “Then, prove it!”

“Very well!”

And then she… skewers the fish— with her sword, the weapon drawn before Akhos can even shout at her again. Akhos covers his face, stunned.

“ _What are you doing?!_ ”

“I won’t touch it! Not with my hands!”

“You’ll ruin the meat!”

But Mòrag isn’t paying attention to Akhos for the moment. Almost reverently, and maybe with a tinge of fear, she raises the sword with the Monkfish speared at the end of it. It’s… it’s still moving.

It’s still staring at her.

Oh, Architect. She goes pale. Patroka is doubled over in laughter behind them, nothing more than unnecessary background noise now.

“Why is this accursed beast still _alive?!_ Its grudge… I can feel its resentment, Akhos! I can’t allow it to continue suffering like this!”

“W-wait, put your sword down! Don’t raise it near me— augh, disgusting! Grotesque! It— it smells like the underfoot of a Gogol! Auuugh!”

_”Hellfire—“_

_”—No, you idiot—“_

Too late. The sword is ablaze, as is the Monkfish, now cooking in searing blue flames.

And its burning body begins to slide down the sword, towards Mòrag. She yelps and drops the blade, and it nearly lands on Akhos’ foot. He makes an embarrassingly high-pitched noise then stumbles back— then steps right on the sack of Monkfish, and his arms flail in the air for a prolonged moment as there’s a terrible squishing noise, his leg giving way with too much momentum for him to stop.

He slips. Monkfish go flying. Patroka is howling in laughter, about to fall off her seat.

Mòrag is busying herself with viciously stabbing at the scattered Monkfish as Akhos lays on his back, dazed. He looks up at Patroka as she walks over to him, scowling at her mirth.

“Well, that went about as well as I expected,” she laughs.

“Oh, shut up.”

 

* * *

 

“On the bright side,” Akhos declares, once everything had calmed down and Mòrag is no longer trying to burn everything. “I’ve come up with an entirely new script.”

Mòrag, who had inevitably been saddled with all the work of cleaning up the mess that’s been made, looks up. Bits of dismembered Monkfish lay scattered around the kitchen and there’s a burned patch on the floor, but at least everything else in intact. More or less. It’s a great shame that so much of this rare fish had been put to waste, but she suspects Obrona would still eat the pieces (burnt beyond recognition or not) if Mòrag gave them to her.

So maybe it wasn’t a complete waste, after all, though that’s yet to be determined. It really depends if Obrona’s willing to be a living garbage disposal unit for them.

“No one cares about your dumb scripts, Akhos.” Patroka rolls her eyes. “By the way, Mòrag, you missed a spot.”

“Thank you for your input, Patroka,” Mòrag flatly says.

“Neither of you are even remotely curious about my ideas? Hmph, well, I suppose I couldn’t expect much from a barbarian and a slacker.”

“Barbarian?”

“Slacker?”

“That’s right, you heard correctly. Patroka, I don’t know why _you_ sound surprised. I call you a slacker all the time.”

“That doesn’t make it any less rude!”

“Hah, you don’t have nearly enough ground to start lecturing others on manners. Anyway, yes, I’ve decided to write a comedy. Comedies are out of my usual range, I’ll admit, but I’ve been inspired by recent events.” He throws his arms out wide in a dramatic gesture. “Congratulations, Mòrag! You’ll be playing the savage idiot who is bested by a mere fish!”

The withering look she wears is typically enough to make even the most battle-hardened soldier quiver in his boots, but Akhos is pointedly avoiding eye contact, pretending to wipe an invisible smudge from his glasses.

“You were totally freaking out too, though,” Patroka points out.

“—I didn’t ask for your opinion!”

“I’m _flattered_ to be given such a prominent role in your next story.” If her sarcasm were any more palpable, it’d be raining down on Akhos like a hundred blades. But he’s still occupied with fiddling around with his glasses, casually leaning against the counter beside Patroka as they do nothing to help her clean the Monkfish slime from the floor.

They’re snapping at each other again, trading verbal barbs one after the other like cards. But when Mòrag pauses and looks up at them, a strangely warm feeling settles over her. In spite of all her annoyances and in spite of the disaster that had just passed, this was…

 _Fun_ wouldn’t be the right word for it. Actually, she isn’t sure what to call this.

But when compared to their past encounters, when Akhos and Patroka were a part of Torna, this kind of mundane normalcy is just so strange in how natural it feels.

“You missed a spot,” Akhos and Patroka say in unison, when they notice that Mòrag had paused in her cleaning.

“… Of course.”

Yeah. This is fine.


End file.
